I Will Keep You Safe
by cumbersmaug
Summary: Mycroft is struggling with ghosts from the past that are coming back to haunt him. The pressure from the situation pushes him into a borderline situation where he's not sure he can separate imagination from reality. It escalates quickly when his 'dead' brother appears from of the blue, and vanishes right in front of his eyes. Characters: Mycroft, Sherlock, their mother and Anthea.
1. Chapter 1

Twisting and turning in the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, Mycroft Holmes couldn't fall asleep. This was the sixth night in a row. For one and a half year he had managed to have his eyes glued to the outside world and political affairs. Now, however, his tired, overworked body was protesting. There's only so much you can do to keep your bottled up struggles away.

If it was up to Mycroft, he would have none of this. The Ice man. The Government. To most people he was more like a myth and a phantom than a living man of flesh and blood, like the rest of us. That was exactly how he wanted it to be.

Against the naked sole of his foot, he could feel a wet, comforting muzzle followed by a soft whimper. His loyal collie, Amelia, could sense her master's troubles and internal struggles. "Come here, girl." Mycroft's voice was as stoic and calm as ever when he patted the big, cold spot next to him in bed. Amelia jumps in and curls herself up into a big ball of black and white. She was nearing her 10th year - not filled with as much bolting vitality as she used to be. "You and me both," Mycroft whispers softly as he ruffles her soft, shiny coat. Amelia looks up at him with her big, brown eyes – as Mycroft meets her gaze, her tail starts wagging slowly. "Oh, don't give me those old, sad eyes." Mycroft smiles gently, patting her head carefully. "It's fine. I promise."

* * *

In a luxurious suite in St. Petersburg, Anthea was lying next to a man whose first name she'd already chosen to forget. The sex had been mediocre at best, and had been over after a vast 7 and a half minutes. "You're so beautiful," he had panted against her lips, insisting on being on top of her. When she had carefully suggested a second go, he'd only smiled at her before rolling over onto his side. Now he was snoring so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts.

Anthea got out of bed, not bearing to listen to the snoring anymore. Well, if you could call it that. To her it sounded more like a scratched record of bear growls. Putting on a thin lace dressing gown she stepped outside onto the balcony in the cold St. Petersburg night. She lit a cigarette and looked up at the stars. The looked just as beautiful this night, as it had done three years ago, in Prague. Anthea had silently thanked the hotel management for mixing up their reservation, making her and Mycroft share a suite. That had been the first time they had made love. Mycroft never had _sex_, he never _fucked_ her – he made love to her. That night three years ago it had truly come to her understanding that he wasn't made of ice at all. He had a big heart, a warm heart – he'd just hidden it all those years. It had been the start of a whole new chapter of Anthea's life. A chapter which she and Mycroft had shared. After spending one and a half years together, making her feel like she was finally whole – like she had finally found her other half - he had broken her heart.

* * *

Mycroft cut a frown as he took a big sip of his morning coffee on his way to work. It was bitter. He put it away on a tray as he walked past the reception area of his office wing. Everywhere around him he could feel everyone's curious gazes. They had all read the headlines. They were looking at him as if they were expecting him to say something. As soon as he met their gazes, they were quick to look away or turning around as if they suddenly remembered they had things to do. _Suicide of Fake Genius_. His brother. Did they expect him to hold a speech? Mycroft sighs heavily as he ignores their sheepish gazes and walked through the suddenly very long hallway of the office building.

Just as Mycroft places his calloused hand onto the handle of his office door, he could sense something was wrong. He opened the door in a casual manner, but his gaze was stiff and examining.

"Hello, brother dear." A far too familiar voice teased from the other side of the room. Mycroft didn't hesitate to close the door behind him as he stepped into his office. "Are you insane?!" Mycroft's voice rumbles deep in his throat. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you?! For both of us!"

"Oh, calm down." Sherlock gets up from Mycroft's office chair, straightening his suit and adjusting his glasses. His hair was no longer dark brown, it was ash blonde, and he had a well-trimmed beard. The disguise was well thought through. Sherlock looked like any other businessman in this part of town. No one would look twice at him. "Allow yourself an extra piece of cake for your midday tea break." Sherlock teases as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Mycroft tightens the grip of both his suitcase and umbrella. "John is on the verge of losing his mind. Just by being here you can get us both killed, and Ms. Hooper is under _suspicion_, do you know what that means? Does that mean _anything_ to you at all?!" Mycroft snaps. The two brothers stare intensely at each other in silence. From the slight tremble of Sherlock's nostrils, Mycroft know he had hurt his brother.

"Mr. Holmes!", his newly employed secretary bursts through the door. "We've got Tokyo on the phone. It's urgent! I buzzed you, but you didn't answer."

Mycroft could feel the blood leave his face. He turns around, his face white in a complex mix of fear and rage. "And does that give you the permission to burst into my office?!" he barks at his secretary. "Get out of here, and take your belongings with you!"

His secretary is scared to death by Mycroft's sudden and uncharacteristic outburst of rage. She had never seen him like this before. Frozen in terror, she finds herself completely unable to move. Mycroft turns back around, somehow desperate to save the situation. His brother was disguised, it wasn't necessarily too late. But as he turns around, he stares straight at an empty office desk. His windows were untouched. Sherlock wasn't there.

Karen, his young secretary notices how her boss goes from sudden rage to silent confusion. "Is… is everything all right, sir?" she manages to stutter.

"I am terribly sorry, Karen." Mycroft rubs his finger against his temple. His voice is just as soft and gentle as it usually is. "You'll have to excuse me, I haven't been myself lately." Mycroft blinks, suddenly feeling very light-headed. He looks into the room. "Where did my brother go..?" He mumbles. His voice is thick and slow.

"Sir? Sir? Are you all right?", she takes a step further into the office – watching as the tall man supports himself against his beautifully carved office desk.

"I could swear I saw him just a minute ago." Mycroft was feeling dizzy. He was fighting it as hard as he could, but he was already swaying.

"Sir? Sir!" His secretary shouts as the tall man falls to the floor, lying straight out. She gets down on her knees next to him, checking his pulse and whether or not he was breathing. Her mascara was running down her round cheeks as she dialled the emergency number. "I think my boss is having a heart attack!" She cries helplessly into the phone. It takes the lady on the other end of the line a good minute to get the most essential information out of the terrified, young woman – and 10 minutes later, Mycroft Holmes is picked up by and ambulance and rushed off to the nearest hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

London, 30th of May, 2011

«How are we today, Mr. Holmes?» A kind voice speaks, gentle hands adjusts his pillow.

"Anthea?" Mycroft opens his eyes slowly. His vision is blurred for a second, all he can see is long, dark locks of hair and a shining white smile. "Anthea." He smiles up at the woman as if all of his worries are immediately washed away. He reaches out his big, warm hand to caress her cheek.

"No, it's Betty." The woman chuckles, pointing at her name badge. "Nurse Elizabeth, if you want – but everyone calls me Betty".

Mycroft could feel his heart sink as a stone to the bottom of his chest. "Elizabeth…" he mumbles faintly as his smile fades. His vision was clearing up now. The woman was pretty, but she wasn't Anthea. Not at all. "What day is it? What happened?". He coughs slightly. His throat was dry.

"It's May 30th, 2011" The nurse smiles warmly. "You've been here for two and a half days – sleeping most of the time."

Mycroft clears his throat. "What happened?" He repeats kindly, really not feeling like dragging out the conversation.

"You city boys." The nurse smiles as if she has all the knowledge and experience in the world. "You must take better care of yourselves!" She pats Mycroft's shoulder. "There's only so long you can go without sleeping, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft sighs deeply. It was true. As he had woken up and his mind still was unclear, he'd blamed the bitter coffee, but he couldn't allow himself to be that paranoid. No one would try to poison him. He knew it hadn't been a heart attack. Six nights without sleeping was serious enough. After going such a long time without sleep it would be considered normal to experience hallucinations of various sorts, but had Sherlock really been just a hallucination?

"So, who is she?" The nurse smiles teasingly as she straightens up by Mycroft's bedside.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft looks up at the 30-something nurse with the too self-secure eyes.

"Anthea." Betty smiles, clearly wanting to know more.

This Betty, Elizabeth, was deemed innocent enough by Mycroft. He took a quick glance at her, deducing she was something as rare as happily married, but also with a great heart for gossip. Nonetheless, Mycroft decided to tell her. He was certain his story never would go further than to the staff room, possibly the restrooms, to her female co-workers. "I love her." Mycroft answers simply. "And I broke her heart. I think she is better off without me. It was for the best."

Betty's hand is immediately on top of Mycroft's and she sits down again. Mycroft knew that a nurse normally wouldn't have time for this, but he wasn't in a position to tell her. Now he was her patient. She was his nurse. If she considered it important to sit down and listen to his stories, then so be it. "You can talk to me. I'm a nurse. It will stay between us." She said with a soothing voice, although Mycroft could see the hunger in her eyes. He smiles faintly, taking a deep breath.

* * *

London, January 11th, 2008. [Three years earlier]

Anthea Smith. There she was, sharply dressed in her little black dress and blazer, sitting in a room with other sharply dressed, hopeful people - both men and women. Up to this point, she had only worked with women's fashion as a saleswoman in a department store in Glasgow. Now she had recently moved to London, dreaming of starting a new life here. She wanted a more serious-sounding job.

She was waiting for her name to be called out. She was applying for a job as someone's personal assistant. She looked at the papers again. Mycroft Holmes. It sounded like some old, white-haired, bearded man in the last chapter of his life. He had a position in the British Government. The papers didn't specify. For her, this only meant an increased possibility to get a safe and steady job. She tapped her fingers nervously against her thigh. She really, really wanted this one. Working for some boring, senile bloke couldn't possibly be that hard. Making copies, getting coffee, remember dates, names and make appointments. Anthea nodded discreetly to herself. Safe, but incredibly dull.

Mycroft, on his side, has always believed in learning on the job.  
Currently in front of him is a stuttering, nervous excuse of what the portfolio in his hand boasted. The current position he's hiring for have no need for at least half of what is listed, but there's no point in hiring for a lack of confidence. Skills-wise, his personal assistant only needs to be able to read and tell the time. Basic motor functions. Personality-wise, though, is a completely different matter. Mycroft had hoped for someone who works with a detached fluidity. Professional and leave no loose ends. Of course that would have to be decided after hiring, but if anything, Mycroft values of his skill of judgement. First impressions are much more informative than most give credit for.  
Nodding to the nerve-wrecked man, Mycroft informs him that he is now free to leave. Perhaps the next one.

"Anthea Smith!", finally her name was called out by a rather plain lady walking around looking busy. The lady pointed Anthea towards a thick, wooden door saying "Mycroft Holmes" and nothing more. A seemingly important man without a title? Anthea thought no more of it at this point. Anthea stopped in front of the door, straightened her dress, made sure her necklace was in order before she quickly brushed her fingers through her hair. Head up. Straight back. There. Done. She should at least look somewhat acceptable now. She gave the door two determined knocks before she entered the room. "Miss Anthea Smith, sir." She said as she locked the door behind her.

"Yes, your portfolio has already informed me." Mycroft replies lightly, running his eyes over his new candidate. "Please, have a seat." Nodding towards the empty chair opposite him, Mycroft leans slightly forward, resting his chin on his woven hands. "Now, tell me something I don't already know."

This man looked nothing at all like the old, senile man she had pictured, Anthea thought. This one was much younger, and his voice was much softer. But despite considering herself just a regular girl from Glasgow, she knew people. She looked at him, his gentle eyes. This one was a man who had seen it all. She walks politely over and sits down in the chair, gently placing one leg over the other leaning slightly forward in her chair to show her active interest in the conversation. She was determined not to answer gibberish. What the papers didn't tell... They already had told him most of her handy abilities. So what did he mean? "Daughter of a military officer, dedicated to fashion, loves excitement, not easily frightened, good with gadgets." She finishes her sentence with a twist of humour and a polite smile.

Mycroft raise a brow, not easily frightened indeed. Sensible, one of the few who doesn't treat interviews as interrogations. "You also prefer to be an active participant in a conversation, good."

"Of course I do, I'm Scottish." Anthea smiles at him, letting out a bit more of her otherwise hidden Scottish accent with a humorous chuckle. That little curl hanging down his forehead made him look like a poet. Anthea wondered if he was a sensitive man? Most men are, but most men hide it. But perhaps he had some artistic sensitivity? Music or paintings?

Humming, Mycroft runs his eyes over her features. "What did you expect when you applied for this rather... vague position?"

"I was hoping it would be something a bit out of the ordinary, to be honest. I mean - vague position - British Government. Not even your title is specified. Of course I am prepared to take care of the usual documents, get you your fancy cup of coffee and run around in heels and skirts, looking good at all times. But I have absolutely no problem with that." She rests her hands on her knee.

Mycroft nods, letting the briefest of smiles cross his lips. A spirited character but with a sense of time and place, an appreciation to the importance of public image... or perhaps just another vain soul - but he has no problem with that. Letting her speak her mind, Mycroft could tell that she's already starting to wonder about him, too. "Very good, Miss Anthea Smith... a very exotic first name to go with a devastatingly common surname?"

"Yes." She nods. "I have absolutely no explanation for that." She pauses. "My name... Is that of importance?"

"Importance is only there when people start noticing it." Mycroft answers . "Some change their name for a purpose of attention, some don't. Many gets attached to a single name it becomes their dictator." Chuckling slightly, Mycroft leans back. "But I ramble. Your turn."

She liked his chuckle. It was nice hearing him share his point of view with her. She could see the brilliance and intelligence shine in his eyes for a brief second there, before he let it fade away again. This man was anything but an idiot. "Mycroft Holmes..." She pauses as she smiles at him, letting her eyes run over him for a brief second. "You're a mysterious man. Am I being too bold if I'm asking you about your position in the Government?"

"You are free to choose your own questions." Mycroft answers, the way she boldly says his name spikes an interest in him. He wants to know if she's interested in the right things or not. "If a position dictates my actions, then I have none."

She nods thoughtfully. "Well, for instance I would like to know about travelling - which is not a problem either - I'm single, without kids. Do you work much outside of Britain? Or do you perhaps travel a lot within Britain? What you do /exactly/ is none of my business. I would just do as you tell me to." She smiles modestly. The thought of travel excited her.

"Both. Most travels are down within Europe, pre-scheduled at least three days before departure - and if you are to take up this position, that is one of the many things you will be in charge of organizing." Mycroft nods, the excitement in her eyes almost endearing. "But you are also required to be able to leave within an hour's notice."

"Sounds interesting." She smiles. "That would mean in the middle of the night as well." Most people would've just sighed at the thought, but she thought it sounded mysterious - exciting. Like a secret adventure. "I take it you're an important man." Anthea nods solemnly.

"Importance is only there when people start noticing it." Mycroft chuckles at her bold words. "And the trick is to learn how to hide in plain sight."

It was more than obvious that this was a big, shining "YES", from his words. "I guess they would notice if you stopped doing what you do." Anthea chuckles lightly.

"Perhaps. But that's the road we would not want to travel unprepared." Mycroft hums.

"I agree." She still had no clue what he was doing, but her instincts told her it was something big. Very big, and very important. National security? Oh, sounded like one of those secret agent movies she loved so much. Exciting!

"Any more inquiries?" Mycroft looks at her, the energy radiating from the young woman in front of him was rather...contagious

"How do you take your coffee and tea?" Anthea smirks slightly.

"Sweet." Mycroft answers. "The ratios depending on what type of beans and leaves you're talking about."

The subject instantly makes her interested. She was like that of nature. She could talk about almost anything - even if she had nothing but a normal amount of healthy, common knowledge. "Hmm... What about Indonesian java coffee? How many sugars? I can navigate from that one." She frowns slightly in solemn interest.

"I enjoy the Mocha-Java blend and its derivatives." Mycroft nods. "One part mocha coffee to two parts Indonesian Java Arabica coffee. Only a touch of sugar in this one, though." He adds. "The Mocha helps."

Anthea nods at the elegant figure in front of her. She really liked that little curl hanging down his forehead. It was cute. He really looked like a poet. If he wore a thick old-fashioned dressing gown and slippers in private it would be perfect. She would love to see him smoke a pipe at some point. He looked like the type to smoke. She smiles. "I don't think I have any further questions. You?"

"Regardless of the time era, your favourite artist? " Mycroft asks. "And when I say artist, I do mean it in every sense of the word."

"Oh... That's a really hard one." Anthea immediately starts thinking of composers. Painters, architects and sculptors were just too hard. She knew she looked like the kind of woman that would go clubbing, listening to the latest hits on her ipod - but truth was she had grown up on the countryside with a very artistic mother. Classical music and various jazz had filled the rooms of the small house she had spent her childhood in. She thinks for a moment. "Wagner is nice... but sometimes a bit too pompous." She mumbles. "I think I'll have to say Bull or Grieg. Perhaps Prokofiev." She chuckles over the fact that she gave him three answers. "You know what? This is too hard!"

"Three answers are better than one, and you fared well." Mycroft chuckles, amused by her reaction. "I will save my thoughts on Wagner for later. You are now free to leave."

She nods and straightens her dress as she gets up from the chair, reaching out her hand to give him a proper handshake. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes.»

"The pleasure is all mine." He gets up to shake her hand, a gentle but firm touch.

"I hope I'll see you again." She smiles back at him, noticing how small her hand was in his.

"As do I." Mycroft hums, releasing her hand. "Even if for the sake of Wagner."

Anthea chuckles. "I would be happy to give him another chance." She smiles as she takes a step back. "Have a nice day!" She turns around to leave.

Mycroft smiles as she leaves, waiting for a moment before he buzzes the intercom. "Have Henrietta interview the rest of them." He pauses for a while, adding" And place Anthea Smith on the top of the pile when you send over the paperwork for the passed applicants."

* * *

Prague, March 8th 2008.

Anthea had been under Mycroft's employ for about three months, and it's been a long time since she realized that it would be anything but boring. He would often give her requests rather out of the ordinary, which allowed her to really use her wits and creativity, something her boss seemed to appreciate in his own gentle way.

Mycroft was a firm but considerate boss. It didn't take him long to deduce Anthea's preferences and taste. He would discreetly place a small box of Lindt chocolates on Anthea's desk whenever she had "her time of the month", and he "coincidentally" invited her out for a friendly lunch the day after Anthea had broken up with her new boyfriend (after finding out he was nothing but a player). Anthea was sparkling compared to his previous , and he wanted to do whatever he could to keep her. He wouldn't even admit to himself that it was a bit more than just that.

Now, a project he had going in Prague was in a desperate crisis, and he and Anthea had to go immediately. It had only taken Anthea minutes to book both plane and hotel rooms for them both. A car ride, and a few airport longue drinks later, Anthea and Mycroft found themselves seated in two first class seats 30 000 feet above the ground. Whether the drinks were to blame, or simply the company, neither of them knew – but they both started to open up to each other. Anthea told about her upbringing up in Glasgow, about her previous relationships, and why she had chosen to put her Scottish accent away. Mycroft told her about himself; growing up as an older brother, the experience of losing his father when he was only a teenager, and his strong mother. They both looked at each other in a different light after that flight.

Unfortunately, they both had to part at the airport. Anthea was trusted to take care of the bookings, while Mycroft had an emergency meeting to attend. They would meet again in a few hours. Anthea swallows heavily as she receives a phone call from the hotel. There had been a terrible mix-up One of their rooms had been given away.


	3. Chapter 3

**London, 30****th**** of May, 2011**

«Then what happened?!» Nurse Betty is subconsciously tugging at the corner of Mycroft's duvet.

"Well-", Mycroft pulls his words out ", that was the coincidence leading up to our relationship. Let your imagination do the rest." He smiles softly, not wanting to elaborate what happened that night in Prague to just anyone.

Betty was about to ask another question, but then her pager went off, and she had to leave. Not a minute too soon, Mycroft chuckled to himself as the woman disappeared out the door. He adjusted his head on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. He found himself strangely tired again, although he had just woken up. Mycroft closed his eyes slowly, his mind drifting off to that magical night in Prague.

* * *

**Prauge, 8****th**** of March 2008**.

Anthea sits in a luxurious suite in one of the many fine hotels of Prague, waiting for Mycroft to show up. It was now late evening, and she didn't know how many hours she had wasted trying to sort out the problems with their reservations. She had specifically ordered two rooms, she had even double-checked their reservation - but still, there was nothing she or the receptionist could do. Their second room had been given away by accident. She sighs deeply, resting with her elbow planted in the armrest of the suite's Corbusier chair.

Mycroft makes his way down the carpeted hallway, his suit still immaculate. When he opens the door of his hotel suite, he wasn't surprised to find Anthea there. The hotel manager had called him, apologizing profusely - even offering to relocate them to another hotel of the same standards free of charge, but Mycroft had politely turned him down. He sees no use in moving around when two people can certainly make do with a luxurious suite. He can't afford to be spotted by too many people in Prague, and for various reasons including her own safety, he'd rather keep Anthea close by. This is her first trip - he still feels the need to protect her, at least keep her his immediate vicinity.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Mycroft walks over to her, offering her a gentle smile. "Are you not enjoying the view? "

She looks up at him and smiles back. "The view is absolutely wonderful." She pauses. "I am so sorry, sir. I did everything I could to fix this... I'm sure you've heard?"

"Yes, I've heard." Mycroft nods, taking off his suit and loosening his tie just slightly, leaving the waistcoat on as he walks over to the window, observing the outside view. " And we've been offered the most sincere apologies and offers to relocate, but I chose not to, for security reasons. "Mycroft turns to look at her. "It's not your fault, Anthea."

"Thank you." The waistcoat does a magnificent job of showing off his slim, long body and male features. Anthea discreetly lets her eyes run over him from behind. "I can take the sofa. " She offers.

"Nonsense." He shakes his head "We will be here for 3 days, and you need to remain fresh and ready. The bed is king-sizes, we can share...if you don't mind, of course."

She looks over at the bed, which was almost visible from where she was sitting in the room next to them. It looked very inviting. And, the thought of lying next to this man made tingles spread across her body. "No." She answers resolutely and nods. "I don't mind. We're both adults."

"Good." Mycroft nods, taking her reaction to be a professional one* I'm going to use the shower, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead." Anthea smiles, still eyeing Mycroft up from behind as he walks past her. "I'll probably spend more time in the bathroom anyway."

* * *

Mycroft, in all his decency, crawls into bed wearing the hotel's bathrobe. He picks up a book from the nightstand as he waits for Anthea to join him so he can hit the lights. He tried his best not to think of the fact that he was going to spend a night next to his lovely assistant. It was purely professional, he told himself. The bed was very big and it would be horrible of him to let her sleep on the sofa. If she had refused his offer, he would be the one to take the sofa.

Mycroft's chain of thought is forced to a halt as Anthea enters the room, only wearing a small, cream-coloured silk slip. He could immediately feel his pulse elevate. Anthea chuckles at him. "I don't claim to have shared bed with a lot of men, but I've never seen a man sleep in his bathrobe before." Anthea slips in under the duvet next to him.

"I am only a man", Mycroft answers sincerely as he looks into Anthea's sparkling, blue eyes. "I am afraid my bodily reactions would might be… Indecent." He explains.

Anthea looks back up at Mycroft, completely mesmerized by his honest gaze. After a long minute of silence she opens her mouth. "I wouldn't mind." She almost whispers up at him. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly so thick one could almost touch it. Anthea's body was screaming for him to touch her.

"Very well…" Mycroft's voice is slow. She can hear that he's thinking. Slowly, the bathrobe comes off, and Anthea holds her breath as she takes in the sight of his pale, freckled shoulders and his subtly toned upper body. He was long, slim and lean – only wearing a pair of boxers. Mycroft lies down, his head resting on the pillow. "Aren't you going to sleep?" He asks.

Without a word, Anthea scoots closer to Mycroft, settling herself in his arms. Soon, her arm is resting on his stomach, and her head on his chest. "Is this all right?" She holds her breath. Her heart is pounding in her chest.

"Yes. Yes…," Mycroft closes his arms around her small body. She felt so small against his broad chest. The next second, Anthea's small hand closes around his wrist and guides it down towards her bum.

Next thing he knows, they kiss. Mycroft has to make thoroughly sure that this is what Anthea truly wants, before their clothes come off and they lie naked next to each other in bed. He takes his time, spending a good hour simply indulging in her body; kissing, touching, massaging and caressing, before they eventually end up making love.

They smile and kiss, tease and laugh. The entire night is spent doing anything but sleeping up in the hotel suite in Prague. It was a night they would both remember until the end of their days.

* * *

**London, 1****st**** of June, 2011**.

After a few days in the hospital, the doctors deemed Mycroft healthy enough to leave, but they had to order him to stay home for a few weeks to take "a break" as they said. Mycroft had immediately started negotiating with the doctors, and they had come to an agreement of which neither of the two parts were entirely satisfied. Mycroft would work 50%, but from his home office. "At your own risk," the doctors added with a slightly displeased frown.

It didn't take Mycroft long to step out of the hospital gown and into a sharp, charcoal suit. His chauffeur was waiting for him outside the hospital in a matter of minutes. Mycroft was going home for a change. He had spent many nights at the office, pulling out the bottom drawer of his desk where he would find clean shirts when the night turned into dusk, but now he would have to stop living like that.

From the sidewalk he could see Amelia staring out through the window by the entrance door. Poor Amelia. He knew her well enough to know that she had been sitting there every day, expecting him to come home any minute. As she notices her master he can see her getting up on her feet, wagging her tail eagerly. The old dog tries her best to jump in excitement as he turns the key around. "Amelia," Mycroft soothes as he gets down on his knees to embrace his faithful friend and companion. "I don't deserve your loyalty." With his big, tired hands he ruffles Amelia's coat, and she tries her best to lick Mycroft's chin, whimpering in happiness to see her old friend again.

As Mycroft leans back to get up on his feet, he notices a pair of small, black pumps standing next to his shoe rack. The door to his study was open. He frowns slightly, brushing his coat as he straightens up. He recognized those shoes. What was _she_ doing here?

"I expected you about an hour earlier than this." A firm, female voice calls from Mycroft's study. "Someone had to take care of Amelia while you were in the hospital. Didn't I always tell you that your 5 hours of sleep are _critical_ for your health and well-being?" A slim, elegant, white-haired woman steps gracefully out into the entrance hall.

"Mother?" Mycroft frowns in confusion. What was she doing here? He looks down at Amelia. She met his gaze, wagging her tail. The last thing he had heard from his mother was that she was vacating in France. But he couldn't expect to be up to date when he had been sleeping for almost three days. "How is… Sherlock?". Mycroft hesitates.

"Sherlock is _Sherlock_." The elegant woman answers. "And it's best you don't know more than that."

Mycroft looks back up, clearly disagreeing "But I am his broth-"

She was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft could feel his face going white again. What was happening? His mother, Agathe, had been her just seconds ago. But he had slept! He couldn't be hallucinating anymore, could he?

"…I said; 'How do you want your tea today?'" Agathe calls from the kitchen. Mycroft exhales in relief.

"Just a bit of milk, thank you." Mycroft shakes his head, walking towards the kitchen with the obedient Amelia following his every footstep. "How could you let me become that easily scared?" Mycroft chuckles at his tail-wagging companion.

"Now, son." Agathe hands Mycroft his cup of tea, before she resolutely takes his arm and leads him to his armchair. She sits down opposite of him, resting her leg elegantly over the other . She takes a modest sip of her tea. "I have questions to ask you."

Mycroft nodded. His mother; the clever, foreseeing woman. She and his brother were the only one on this earth able to see through him.

"This isn't about your sleep pattern; or lack thereof." She states. "But you know that." She looks at her oldest son. Amelia whimpers and plants her head in her master's lap.

Mycroft pats Amelia gently. His voice is characteristically steady and calm, but it takes him a lot of effort to make it stay that way. "Her name was Anthea."

"Oh, finally. She has a name." Agathe smiles mildly. "You look like a man who's punishing himself for old mistakes. " Her voice softens. Not only was she a strong, independent and intelligent woman. She was also a mother, no matter how old her sons were. "It's time to open up to your old mother."

Mycroft smiles faintly. He had always kept his passions and secrets close to his heart. He had a hard time talking about himself; even to his mother. And she hadn't pushed him to talk to her since he was in his late teenage years. This time, like always, she was right. Still, the words didn't come easy. He wasn't quite sure how to do this.

"You know, when I met your father – I knew he was the one. I had a feeling of ease and comfort around him. I had never felt so relaxed around any man before. You remember your father – he was like a big child." Agathe chuckles softly. "I was lucky to have him, even if he left long before me." Agathe smiles softly. "You were 14 when your father died. You've known him almost as long as I have. I got to have him by my side for 15 years, but all those beautiful moments we shared… Our marriage. We had you, we had your brother. Our Sunday picnics and adventures in the backyard. It was enough for a lifetime." Agathe chuckles softly. She leans forward, taking her son's big hand in her small, wrinkled one. "We all have a certain number of days here on this earth – we just don't know how great that number is. Don't wait, Mycroft. Don't think about your career and what's best for the commonwealth. Stop that at once." His mother commands with a mild, warm voice. "You've got a life to live, son. I am sure Anthea is thinking the exact same thing as you do."

"…Mother." Mycroft mumbles weakly. He recognizes the feelings she is talking about, and that makes him feel guilty. "…She wouldn't want to be with me after what I did to her."

"How do you know? Have you asked her?" Agathe immediately responds.

Mycroft sighs. "All right. I will tell you what happened. Just… please don't disown me as your son afterwards."

"What nonsense!" Agathe squeezes her son's hand. "Now. In your own time." She soothes.

* * *

Together they had been unstoppable. One of the most powerful duos the political world had seen. Whatever Mycroft lacked, Anthea had – in abundance. On the battlefield of politics, they had roamed, and nothing could stand in their way. They were never completely 'off the clock', but behind closed curtains and debugged windowsills they were rolling the sheets like thunder. The passion they had shared for each other had been wild and untamed, despite their straight faces around other people. They were both skilled to perfection in hiding any sign of affection when standing in front of others. But. Without each other, it was if like neither of them could breathe.

Anthea was sitting on the trans-Siberian train, looking at how the landscape changed. She could see the river Ob outside her train window. It was getting darker and colder outside, and the fog was dancing on the calm, big river.

It had been as if her world had just collapsed after she had walked out Mycroft's door. Back then she had been furious. She felt as if she was cheated. He hadn't been the man he thought he was. It didn't taken her long before she started picking up random men in bars. Anthea was an attractive woman, and she didn't have any problem finding a man to warm her bed. However, it had happened that a man implied that he wanted more, which made Anthea immediately cut all form for communication.

Anthea lets her woven hands rest on her lower abdomen. No matter how deep she tried to bury her loss, and no matter how many men she had been with, none of them could replace _the one_.

* * *

"I have not been the son you raised me to be." Mycroft starts off slowly. On the small table between him and his mother the two cups of tea are replaced with two glasses of cognac. Mycroft accepts his glass with a heavy heart. "We had one and a half year together." He looks down at Amelia. The feeling of guilt was too great for him to meet his mother's eyes. His trusted Amelia would never look at him differently. He didn't deserve such kindness, he thought. He takes a big sip of the cognac before he continues. "One and a half year. It was like a dream. I've always been scared to commit myself, I was terrified it would ruin our professional relationship – but I suppose not even I can deduce everything. On the contrary, it was strengthened. We knew about our every last strength and weakness, it was if at it made us bulletproof."

Agathe looks at her son with the same, caring gaze. She knew him well, better than anyone. She already suspected strongly what this was about, but it wasn't her story to tell. It was Mycroft's. "Sounds like quite the woman." Agathe smiles softly.

"Oh, she was." Mycroft sighs. "But I knew that it if something in this world would bring me down, it would be emotions. I got scared. I was terrified." Mycroft shakes his head in shameful disappointment. "After one and a half year she came to me. She was nervous. She said she was pregnant." Mycroft could feel his mother's gaze on him. She gets up from her chair and sits down on Mycroft's armrest. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder as if to tell him that she is not judging him.

Mycroft knew that it wasn't any use to mention how they had always used protection, always been careful – and yet it had happened. It is never a guarantee. "I supported her the best I could." He continues, his voice carrying a slight tremble. "I supported her, but to be frank, I was terrified. We both have enemies. We both have a price on our heads, and to bring a child into this…" Mycroft swallows. "She refused to look at it that way. She was so happy. She told me how much she loved me. I answered by telling her how much I loved her. I still do. …But-." Mycroft pauses, doing his best to keep his emotions at bay. "I-. I couldn't bring myself to be excited about the child growing in her tummy. My child. I was so scared. Terrified. What if something happened to it? What if something happened to Anthea?" Mycroft swallows, putting his now empty glass of cognac back on the table. He takes a long break, listening to the big old longcase clock ticking from the other side of the room. "When she miscarried three months into the pregnancy, I felt relief." Mycroft almost whispers. He closes his eyes in guilt, his fists clenched white. "I hate myself. I hate what I have become."

There atmosphere and vibration in the room was thick. Agathe didn't say anything, her hand was still on her son's shoulder, small, but strong. "What did you say to her?" Agathe finally whispers after a long period of silence. She knew what her son had said, but she also knew that he more than anything had to get it out into the open.

"How can she ever forgive me for what I said?" Mycroft's jaw is tense. "She was devastated. I sat down on her bedside, and I took her small, dainty hand in my own. I squeezed it, and then I said that it maybe was for the best." Another long pause. Amelia whimpers over her master's emotional state. "I tried to explain myself, and what I meant – but the damage was already done. She was so hurt that I had 'falsely pretended to be supportive about something I hated' as she put it. She felt like I had lied to her. She was so hurt that I couldn't trust her with my true fears and opinions until that point, when it was too late. She was right, of course." Mycroft pushes the glass away on the table. "The worst part, though…" He takes a deep breath, staring intensely down at the tabletop. "The worst part is that I regret it so badly. Everything. Now, this very month, the son or daughter we could've had would have been a year old. Standing, perhaps walking. The thought of that makes my heart ache. I would have given up everything to have that chance again. My career, everything. But I ruined it. I ruined everything." Mycroft whispers.

Agathe shakes her head mildly. Although her chest felt tight, and a familiar yearning was gnawing her old bones, she would never stop supporting her son. "Nature decided that this life couldn't be, Mycroft. Neither you or Anthea could've done anything to stop that. …What you kept from her wasn't right, but you know that." Agathe smiles mildly, caressing her son's cheek. "I am not here to tell you what you did wrong, my little Mycroft, but I would advice you to find her, and to talk to her. If you are as right to her as she is to you, there is no doubt in my mind that that is the right thing to do. Remember what I said about our days here on this earth." Agathe adds.

"I stopped tracking her a year ago. I have no idea where she is. Anthea is clever. If she doesn't want me to find her, it would take me a long time to locate her. She knows me too well." Mycroft sighs. To him there was no hope.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Agathe smiles mildly. Mycroft looks up at his mother, clearly confused. "I would start by taking a look in your bedroom." Agathe chuckles softly, placing a motherly kiss on her son's forehead.

"Anthea!?" It is as if Mycroft is suddenly awakened from a deep slumber. "Anthea?! Here?!"

"Go on, now." Agathe grins. "Chop, chop." She pats her son's back. "You two have a lot to talk about."

Mycroft's eyes widen, and within a second he is up and on his way out of the room. It is said that a gentleman will walk, but never run. Well, this was the exception that proves the rule.


	5. Chapter 5

For one and a half year, Agathe had watched her oldest son wither into nothing but a shadow of himself. It hurt her old heart so much to see her son in such pain, but there was little she could do. She felt herself in no position to interfere with her son's private life. He was a grown man, 42 years old. Reading the papers telling lies about her youngest was the final blow to her heart. She had to do _something_. She was their mother. A mother looks after her children.

Helping Sherlock was unfortunately too risky. She would have to let her youngest do this on his own. Agathe packed her suitcase and made herself ready for departure. She called Mycroft as she always used to do before leaving the country. She told him she was going to visit grand-mére in Provence. She told him she would take with her some of the chocolate croissants he was so fond of. But Agathe had booked a ticket to a place much further away.

* * *

**Vladivostok , Russia, 28th of May, 2011.**

The train had arrived early, and the cold morning breeze tried its best to sneak past the fibres of Anthea's coat as she stepped out onto the big, empty platform. In the piercing morning sun, she squints, shielding her eyes with her hand. She thought she could see someone on the other side of the platform. A woman. Anthea is almost drawn towards the figure, pulling her suitcase behind her. It felt as if the strange woman was waiting for her. The woman was soon meeting Anthea's gaze behind big sunglasses. As Anthea became used to the bright light, and close enough to see the details of the woman's elegant silk-wool coat and neatly done hair, she immediately recognized her. She had seen a picture of this woman in Mycroft's office. _Agathe_? At first Anthea was terrified; _had something happened to Mycroft?_

«Доброе утро.» The elegant woman smiles as Anthea approaches. The woman takes off her glasses, revealing her sparkling eyes, full of vitality – hazel green, just as Mycroft's.

Anthea reaches out her hand to greet the woman. "You must be Agathe Holmes. I am Anthea Smith." She smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. She couldn't for the life of her think of any reason for his mother going through all the trouble of finding her. Anthea was nervous.

"Pleased to meet you, Anthea." Agathe smiles. The girl was clever, one could see it in her light, blue eyes – and beautiful too. Agathe would bet her jewels that the girl possessed both a great heart and spirit – no wonder her son had fallen head over heels for her. "A beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"It is indeed." Anthea nods. She was getting increasingly more nervous. Mycroft's mother had come all the way from London and to the other side of the world just to be on this exact train station, this exact day, this exact hour - just to meet her. "Excuse me for being so direct, but… Has something happened? To Mycroft, I mean." Anthea couldn't think of any other reason why his mother would be there. And it would have to be something serious, very serious, since he hadn't sent any of his men, but his own mother. "I can't think of any reason why he must have mentioned me to you. I was his secretary and P.A. at some point, and later my teacher. Mycroft and I, we worked together as-"

"Anthea. I know. I _know_." Agathe interrupts with a kind smile. "I am sorry that we haven't met earlier. I have to say, thought, you're wrong at one point. Mycroft didn't send me." Agathe places her hand on Anthea's shoulder. She could see that the young woman was confused, not quite understanding why she was there. "Come. Let's go somewhere where we can talk without all these people buzzing by. You never know who's around you." Anthea nods, and Agathe leads the young woman through the crowd of people. They lock up Anthea's luggage before they settle in a nice, quiet café. The interior was simple and sturdy; most of the furniture in wood and leather. Agathe orders them both two big cups of coffee and a couple of breakfast plates.

Anthea thanks Agathe for ordering. Her Russian was a bit rusty. The whole situation was so surreal. Anthea thought it was good to take a small break, focusing on something as mundane as food for a few minutes. As they wait for the food to arrive, Anthea returns to their previous topic. " I am sorry, but- …I can't help but to shake the feeling that something is wrong."

"Ah. Female intuition. That is something men can never have." Agathe smiles softly, her maternal instincts are slowly being awoken to life. She places her soft, wrinkly hand on top of Anthea's. Anthea's worry made her strangely content. Nothing could make her more happy right now, than to hear how worried this pretty, young woman was about her son. It meant that Anthea still had at least some warm feelings towards him. Her son. Agathe takes a deep breath. "You don't have to tell me anything about what happened between you, Anthea, but I must help my son." Agathe gives the young woman a kind smile. Anthea returns the gesture. "I said to myself that much would have to happen for me to interfere with my children's private life. But I am afraid that I have reached that point. I am worried about Mycroft. I mean, a broken heart is the nature of life. It is both common and natural, but this… This is so much more." Agathe sighs. "I am so sorry to bother you with this, Anthea."

"No, no. Don't be." Anthea smiles gently. The mere mention of his name made her heart beat faster. She felt light-headed. The prospect of Mycroft still loving her made her surprisingly happy, but at the same time worried for him. "Now I have to know; what about Mycroft?"

Agathe takes the young, smooth hand, giving it a friendly kiss . "Your determination reminds me so much of myself when I was young." Agathe chuckles softly. "Much is left unsaid, and yet I can see that you have somewhat an understanding of what's going on. You're a clever girl, and beautiful too. Will you come with me to London, dear? We can talk on our way there. I am sorry to be in such a hurry, but I can't stay long. No one knows I am here."

"In a heartbeat." Anthea nods without hesitation and a slight shiver on her lip. She loved him. _She had always loved him._

* * *

**London, 1st of June 2011**

Mycroft's feet couldn't possibly carry him fast enough for his own liking as he made his way towards the bedroom – but as he was just a few feet away, he stopped. Inside that door, was the woman he loved. The woman who had once carried his child, and whom he had hurt greatly. Now she was sleeping in his bed. Probably jetlagged from wherever she'd been the last weeks. The last few steps towards the door are slow and heavy. Mycroft knocks carefully on the door, and waits, but there is no answer. Poor woman. She was probably knackered. After hesitating a bit, he decides to open the door, slowly.

The lamp on his night stand was left on, lighting up the room – and there he could see her: A big bulge on his thick eiderdown duvet - with long locks of dark brown hair peeking out it. Mycroft could feel his heart clench. _Anthea. She was here_._ She really was here; in his bed_.

For a moment Mycroft isn't sure what to do. He just looks at the little woman with mixed feelings of hope and disbelief. After a minute's hesitation, Mycroft silently closes the door behind him. He steps out of his shoes, walking silently over to the bed, where he sits down. Anthea is not waken up by the careful move next to her. _She must be exhausted_, Mycroft thought. His poor Anthea. Soon, it's not enough to just sit there. Mycroft's big hand finds the curve of her shoulder through the thick duvet. Anthea moves slightly, but not enough to wake up. "Anthea…", Mycroft whispers. "Anthea, it's me."

Anthea yawns as she slowly starts to wake up. A familiar voice was speaking to her, and she turns around to face it. "Hmm?", she hums with a tired, sleep-drenched expression. She blinks a few times as she can see Mycroft's gentle smile over the edge of the duvet. "…Mycroft?" Anthea mumbles drowsily, she uses a second remembering where she is. "Mycroft." Anthea smiles, a drowsy, sleep-drenched smile. "Come, lie down." She mumbles. "I've been up for 48 hours straight, and I think I've only slept a few, meagre hours. I am not able to get up just yet."

Mycroft could feel his heart pounding mercilessly in his chest. His mouth was dry, and his hands trembling. _One and a half year_. One and a half torturous year, and now she was here. Anthea. His beautiful, breathtaking Anthea. Mycroft swallows heavily as he lifts up the thick duvet to crawl up under it. It was cold in the room, and he hoped she wouldn't mind. For decency's sake, he didn't take his clothes off. They were nothing but old acquaintances now, perhaps old friends – nothing more, no matter how much he wished for it.

Anthea looks at the man lying next to her, noticing how careful he was when he settled down by her side. He didn't peek at her under the duvet, he kept a decent distance, and he didn't take any of his clothes off. "You can at least take your jacket off." Anthea chuckles drowsily.

The tension was broken, Mycroft chuckles in response – mostly in delight, but also because he realized how silly he must've seemed. He sits up and takes his jacket off, hanging it over the bed pole, before lying back down. "Waistcoat and shirt is a bit better, isn't it?" He smiles down at the dainty, little figure lying next to him.

"Incredibly much better." She smiles up at him. They lie like this for a long time, just looking into each other's eyes, not saying a word. Just smiling softly. Anthea is the one to eventually break the silence. "It's been a long time, Mycroft."

"A very long time." Mycroft confirms in a whisper, his gaze longing. Again, he could feel the guilt welling up inside him. The things he had said, the things he had kept from her back then. Even _he_ wouldn't forgive himself. "Anthea-." He pauses, clearing his throat. "The things I have said and done… It's unforgivable. I don't expect-"

"Shhh…" Anthea soothes. Her finger lingering on Mycroft's lips. She scoots closer to him in bed, resting her head on his chest. "You took responsibility even if you were scared to death." Anthea whispers against the soft cotton of his shirt. "You were scared. People do stupid things when they are scared. Even you. Even if you're a Holmes. I am sure you can count on one hand the amount of times you've been scared. " Anthea closes her small arms around Mycroft's broad body. "You were scared because you cared about me, about the child, about our future. Because it mattered to you. I've got one and a half year to think about this, Mycroft. " Anthea looks up at Mycroft. His eyes were closed, in a deep, sad frown. He swallows heavily, not able to say anything. "We can work this out, Mycroft. _I love you_. I've always loved you. I never stopped." Anthea's voice is trembling, about to crack. "Please say you love me too." She whimpers.

Mycroft has a hard time containing himself. He closes his arms around the small frame, pulling her closer against his chest, burying his nose in her thick, brown hair. "I love you." His breath is shaky, but he manages to keep it from breaking, although it took every last bit of willpower he had. "I have always loved you. _Always_." He tightens the grip of the small woman, almost pulling her on top of him. She returns the gesture, holding him tight. "I have dreamt about this moment for so long." He manages to whisper. "So long. And now you are here, in my arms. It is so surreal."

"I am real enough." Anthea manages to chuckle, although tears are welling up in her eyes. She sniffs. "I don't think I can live without you, Mycroft, now matter how much of a cliché it must sound like. I mean it. It's like I am missing a part of myself. I feel empty inside."

"Me neither, Anthea. I feel so selfish, but I need you. I can't think without you, can't breathe without you, can't _live_ without you." He mutters into her hair, taking in the sweet, familiar scent of the woman he loved.

Anthea closes her eyes, settling herself on top of Mycroft's long body. They held each other tight, like this, just embracing each other in a tight grip - for a long time, until Anthea fell asleep. Mycroft felt tired too, so incredibly tired, but he didn't want to fall asleep. He didn't want to waste one precious minute with Anthea in his arms. Despite this, it only took him an hour before he too was asleep. When they woke up, it was early morning – an over-excited Amelia was rolling on her back in the bed next to them. She, more than anyone, could sense how happy her master was. And when her master was happy, Amelia was happy. The bolt of black and white made sure lick the sleep out of both her humans' faces, barking and wagging her tail in pure happiness. Everything was finally _right_ again.

* * *

In the street outside a skinny, blonde businessman was sitting on a bench, pretending to read a newspaper. As he could hear the happy bark he smiles to himself and folds the newspaper together. He looks longingly up at the window from where the sound was coming, and with a sigh he was back up on his feet. If only things could be all right for him too. The man looks at his watch, it was time to go. He couldn't stay here for too long at the time. Soon, he had blended in with the other important-looking men and women in the busy street. He would not be back anytime soon.

* * *

**Author's note**: Do you wish me to end the story here, or do you wish me to continue? I much appreciate your view on the story, and if you'd be kind enough to leave a review or a few words, I'd be eternally grateful! Thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. _

Sherlock was getting up from his seat at small street café in Paris. Sometimes it was if as Mycroft's words were whispered to him in the wind_. Caring is not an advantage_. And yet he did. Both of them did. They both knew, but none of them would say it out loud.

Ever since his "death", he'd had to keep a low profile. He'd found back to old talents, tricks and disguises. He had many aliases. Despite this, he had to keep his distance from familiar faces. Mycroft would've recognized him in a heartbeat, and John would maybe hope or suspect something; but if he was to swarm around them for too long, he would attract unwanted attention from others. From dangerous people. The few weeks he had spent in the UK had been risky enough. Now he would have to stay abroad for a while. Sherlock took a turn by a street corner, disappearing into an alleyway, only two more blocks and he would be back in his little flat which he rented for a short period of time. He would have to be on constant move.

The plan had originally been to escape the country as soon as all the arrangements after his 'death' had gone through, but Sherlock had had to make a few changes in his plans. He was surprised to see how the news of the fall had devastated the people around him. He hadn't expected such extreme reactions from people. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, _John_. Even Mycroft – who knew the truth behind everything. To be fair, Mycroft was not at his strongest. His older brother had been slowly withering away ever since Anthea had left his side. No one could see it, of course. To most people he seemed unnaturally cold about the entire affair. When asked, he would speak of her as if she was nothing to him - that her resignation was mere trivia. But Sherlock _knew_. An entire childhood together – trying out their cleverest little tricks and lies on each other - of course Sherlock knew he was just putting up an act.

No matter what people might be thinking about Sherlock, he cared about his brother – deeply. And so did Mycroft about him. It was an unspoken truth between the two brothers, and a 'weakness' they would never display in front of others. So, as Sherlock watched his brother slowly wither, he decided he had to do something – not only because he cared, but because Mycroft would _need_ to be stronger now. And that was when Sherlock contacted Agathe.

Everyone out looking for Sherlock was expecting him to give in and in some way contact John or Mycroft – no one was keeping an eye on their up to this point anonymous mother. No one counted on the housewife from Essex – or that's what she claimed to be anyway.

On the kitchen table of the manor where the Holmes' brothers had grown up, Sherlock placed the photographs and career description of Anthea. It hadn't taken him too long to trace her – she was currently at the trans-Siberian railroad, expected to reach its final destination in a matter of days. After giving her youngest son dozens of hugs and kisses, Agathe manage to release herself from her son's slim shoulders and dark curls. He was well over 30 years old now, but still just as embarrassed as always when his mother attacked him like that. He had stopped her just in time before she would start getting sentimental and telling stories about him as a toddler.

Agathe listened carefully to what Sherlock had to say as she made them both two big mugs of hot chili chocolate with whipped Chantilly cream on top – just as she had used to make the two brothers when they were young. Sherlock didn't have to explain much. It was already clear for Agathe what she had to do. She had intentionally stayed out of her sons private lives when it came to relationships, but now she would have to make an exception. Her quick mind was already scheduling a flight to Russia.

Already the day after his arrival in Essex, Sherlock was gone without as much as a trace left behind. It was as if he'd never been there. Agathe smiled faintly to herself over the kitchen table that morning. It was with mixed feelings she looked at the folder of information he'd given her the night before. He hadn't said a single word about how much trouble he was in, himself. He had just run off before she would consider taking the risk of helping him. _That was her Sherlock, all right_. _Her little Sherlock_.

* * *

In his expensive Knightsbridge flat, Mycroft is slowly waking up from his deep slumber. He notices that although he went to bed fully dressed, he is now only wearing underwear. It must've gotten pretty warm under the duvet at some point during the night. He takes a deep breath, grinning drowsily as he notices the small arm resting on his chest. "Good morning, my love." He whispers. Anthea mumbles something as an answer, still half asleep. Mycroft's smile widens, and he pulls the small woman up in his arms, running his big hand through her silky hair. "Thank you for coming back to me." He whispers.

"Don't thank me, you silly man." Anthea responds, finally looking up at him with bright, blue, sleepy eyes. She kisses his sweet, slightly curved nose. "Thank you for not running off with some bleached-blonde, Barbie in the meantime." Anthea chuckles.

Mycroft chuckles in return, "You think that sounds like me, do you? You're my better half, Anthea. How could I ever replace you?" Mycroft tightens his grip of her, burying his nose in her thick, brown hair. "You know what I mean. You could've had anyone. To me, there's just you." He whispers.

"You're still being silly." Anthea smiles, resting her head on his chest. His coarse chest hair is tickling her nose. They lie like this for a while, without uttering a word; Mycroft caressing her back slowly, Anthea listening to Mycroft's heartbeat. "I am sorry about your brother. I read the papers. Is it true?"

Mycroft sighs deeply, not quite sure what to say. "Let's just enjoy _this_ for a moment." Mycroft excuses. "I would like to think about what I have right now, not what I don't have." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth either.

Anthea nods in response. She was clever enough not to assume anything. "You're right, of course. I am sorry." She kisses Mycroft's strong chest, caressing his tummy. "You've lost weight. You're just a shadow of what you used to be. We have to do something about that." Anthea chuckles softly as she turns her head to look up at him.

"I think it's because I've reached a certain age, I'm afraid." Mycroft tries, knowing full well that he hasn't been eating properly.

"Oh, what nonsense!" Anthea cuts him off. "You talk as if you're old! You have calm down." Anthea chuckles. "You're in your 40s!"

"And you're in your late 20s." Mycroft replies smoothly, "Way too beautiful and filled with vitality to be stuck with a boring old man like me." He smiles, knowing how much comments like that annoyed her.

"Mycroft!" Anthea warns him, pinching his nose with two fingers. "You just watch yourself!"

"Or else…?" Mycroft chuckles heartily, looking down at the fiery Anthea. She was her same, old self. He pulls her up on top of himself, into his warm embrace. He kisses her warmly, one hand running through her hair. "Oh, it's good to have you back with me. You make me feel alive and without worries." He breathes against her lips. "I'd give everything, _everything_, just to be with you, Anthea. Know that. I have made mistakes. Serious ones. But they have made me change – for the better, I believe."

"You say I make you feel worry-free, but I have to say; you worry too much!" Anthea giggles against his masculine lips. "You're mine now, silly man." She teases, closing her arms around his neck. "Hah! I am not letting you go now!" She laughs, pulling him in for yet another kiss, pressing him mercilessly down into the mattress.

"Oh, you vile, merciless woman!" Mycroft chuckles. "I surrender!" He gladly lets himself be pushed down into the mattress. They kiss and giggle, flirt and caress each other. Soon they both disappear under the duvet, making needy, hungry and passionate love. That would be the first of many, that day. Agathe had already left the house early that morning, taking Amelia with her. The aging woman had been young herself once, and was strongly suspecting what this day would be spent doing. And rightfully too.

Mycroft was happy for the first time in a long time. Although Sherlock was now abroad, he was safe. John was not any longer in danger, he himself was not in danger – and he had Anthea back in his arms. His youthful, sweet Anthea. He didn't want to let her out of his sight ever again.

That afternoon they were lying completely spent and happy in each other's arms – looking into each other's eyes with a content, happy smile.

"Anthea…" Mycroft whispers silently, as if he was afraid to break the magical atmosphere in the room. He brushes his thumb over her red, warm cheek.

"Yes?" She whispers back, smiling at his gesture.

"…I love you." He smiles in return.

"I love you too." She chuckles softly.

"…And Anthea?"

"…Yes?"

"I'm not scared of becoming a father anymore." He leads her soft, little hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. It almost disappears in his big hand.

Anthea grins widely, pulling Mycroft in for a deep, heartfelt kiss. Their sweaty, sticky bodies collide against each other, and Anthea wraps her legs around his strong hips, giggling against his ear, nosing him affectionately. Mycroft chuckles back in response – a warm notion welling up in his chest.

They say actions speak louder than words. They also say a kiss tell you more than a thousand words. And they did both of that. First a lot of kissing, and then a lot of action. Lots and lots of action. The two of them made love like lust-stricken rabbits, and they didn't manage to tear themselves from each other's arms until it was evening – slightly dehydrated but oh so happy. After doing their best simply to cope and survive for the last one and a half years, they were living again. Two lives sharing a life. And they didn't know it just yet, but by the end of the month it wouldn't just be two, but three.


End file.
